Helios
by The Foo and the Fleur
Summary: Cowritten by foofighta and XxFleurdelySxX. Original character. Anton leaves his best friend and hometown to follow the Xmen back to New York... What does dad think?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : All Marvel characters belong to Marvel. Anton and Wyatt Taylor are our creation, and so are other characters to come (although you might recognize a few from our previous stories, if you have read them), but even then, we're not making a cent from this, but we are having a lot of fun, if you can put a price on that.**

**As/N : Hallo there everyone. Foo and Fleur are actually authors foofighta and XxFleurdelySxX, who both have a few stories here, and have become pretty good friends over the years. We had a first attempt at co-writing under the XxFOOdelysxX pen name (it still exists), but the story was abandoned, our muses bringing our attention to more important manners than the Vagabond story. This one will work, though, and we assure you that you will fall in love too. **

**The story is set about 15 years after the general setting almost all fanfics are set in. We might get a few things wrong; ignore them, or consider them as personal touches we made so it would fit the story. It's barely the point anyway. **

**Enjoy.**

_Chapter 1_

Wyatt's eyelids were heavy when he woke up, eyes burning, and he found himself still seated in the uncomfortable armchair. He yawned, stretching his sore body before looking around the white, bare hospital room. It was daylight outside, but the curtains were pulled over the large windows to make it dark inside, allowing sleep. Not a sound could be heard aside from the soft buzzing from the IV and the gentle, regular beeping of the heart monitor. It was loud enough to annoy Wyatt to death, though, considering the two machines were plugged to his ill son's arm. His eyes softened, his gaze settling on the form on the bed, and he got to his feet to walk over to it.

He sat down on the mattress, chest tightening. Three days ago he had stepped in the teenage boy's bedroom to find him passed out on the floor, his skin flushed and burning with a terrible fever. He was in the hospital since then, and the small armchair became Wyatt's bed. Anton woke up here and then, his eyes glazed in fever, violently struggling and mumbling nonsense as nurses did their best to keep his shoulders against the mattress. There was no way to stop him then, until Wyatt pushed them aside and pulled the boy's burning body to his chest. Only after holding him tight, hugging him, rocking him and whispering to him to calm down for nearly half an hour did Anton relax, going limp in his arms as he fell asleep once more. Wyatt did his best to stay calm, his son needed it. Needed _him_. But inside, fear was starting to take its place, making the lingering terrible feeling in his stomach grow colder and colder.

The doctors were helpless, even though they would never admit it. No infections could be found on his body, no viruses, no cancer, no nothing. There was no logical, medical way to explain the fever, and yet it was there. It was getting worse, too, making Anton moan and tremble violently in the worst moments, and lay limp as if dead, a shallow breathing making his chest heave, in the best. In the last day he appeared to never want to lay on his back, either, always turning around and nearly rolling off the bed, and screaming in pain when they tried pinning him down to it until he passed out, exhausted. They had pulled up the metal bars on each side of the bed now, Anton's wrists tied to them. Wyatt had frowned as the nurses did that, but after being told that it was the only way to keep the boy in the bed, and the IV in his arm, he didn't say anything more, and now simply glared at it.

Anton groaned softly, pale eyebrows drawn in a deep, pained frown as he turned his head to the other side. Wyatt reached out, gently smoothing back his soft, damp curls. Anton swallowed and moaned again, arching his back against the mattress before trying to turn around again, pulling hard on the binds, and Wyatt frowned, reaching in to untie them and pull Anton close to his chest. The teenager let out a shaky sigh, forehead resting against his father's shoulder, but didn't wake, whatever pain it was he had fading as he relaxed in Wyatt's hold. Wyatt swallowed hard, shutting his eyes, but kept him close, gently rubbing his son's back. He froze as his hands felt something, though, and Anton tensed in his arms, flinching in his sleep.

Wyatt frowned, pulling him closer and reaching around him to part the back of the blue hospital shirt the boy was wearing. He frowned down at his back, gently running his fingers on the shoulder blade, where a slight bump could be seen on the bone under the skin. Anton flinched again, and Wyatt stomach clenched when he saw the bump move a bit. What was that? He pulled on the shirt, glancing at the other shoulder blade, and his lips parted slightly as he saw the same thing on it. If he didn't know better, he'd think something was... growing? He glanced down at Anton's sleeping face, frowning sadly, and then around the bedroom again. At least now he had an explanation, or the beginning of one, but his heart was telling him it wasn't something he wanted the doctors to see. He frowned and reached for the IV, making the boy jerk in surprise as he gently, but quickly yanked it out of his arm, and gathered Anton's long body in his arms, scooping him out of the bed. He didn't care if anyone would try stopping him as he carried him outside, he was taking Anton back to their home.

He was now, somehow, convinced that this hospital was the last of all places his son should be.

.. … ..

I awoke slowly, sudden pain in my whole body making me moan softly, and opened my eyes to shut them right away, a blinding light burning its way through my eyelids. Apparently I was laying on my stomach on something soft, the familiar scent of my bed sheets filling my nostrils, and my face buried in the pillow. I turned my head away from the window, looking around the bedroom and wondering what in the world was different. It was hot, very hot inside the bedroom, even if I could tell the window was open from the sound of cars passing by -- but it always was hot in New Orleans. It was also mid afternoon, judging from the way the sun drowned the far wall of my room in light, making it reflect in the mirror doors of my closet. I was home, obviously, but something felt... different. I simply needed to put my finger on it. The last thing I could remember was getting dressed to go to school... What was I doing in bed?

I slowly pulled what felt like terribly heavy arms up to lay my hands flat on the mattress, trying to push myself up from it. I groaned, and failed, falling back heavily, and heard something from across the room. "Anton?" I heard my father call in a tired, yet worried tone as he got up from the couch I had on the other side of the bedroom.

I sighed softly, half in annoyance at the fact I couldn't get up, and half in relief at the fact he was there, walking to my bed. "Dad," I mumbled against the pillow, my voice sounding terribly hoarse to my ears. The headache throbbing behind my eyes felt like it was literally pushing them out of their sockets, and I shut them tight. "I... I can' get up."

"Shhh," he breathed. "Don' try." He knelt by the bed, kissing my forehead. "Dere's... dere's somet'ing on yeh back, and you have to relax."

I opened my eyes to look at him, my eyes narrowing. "What happened?" I breathed, and tried pushing myself up again. "I can' remember..."

He frowned, laying a hand on my lower back and pushing me back down. "Stay still. Yeh were sick, Anton. I took yeh t'de hospital but dey din' know shit, so I brought yeh home. I have t'tell yeh somet'ing."

I felt my stomach twist as he pressed on my back. It hurt all over, as if I had laid on a bed of nails for a few nights, and I winced. "What..." I swallowed hard, shutting my eyes as I rested my forehead back against the pillow. "What's wrong with me?" I breathed.

He sighed softly, laying his head down on the pillow next to mine. "Yeh a mutant, kid," he said gently, rubbing my lower back to try and soothe me. "An' yeh powers decided t'show up all at once."

I stayed silent a few moments, letting the words sink in, and swallowed hard as I turned my head to look at him. "What?" I let out, but caught a flash of golden from the corner of my eyes, gasping loudly. I tried turning around to look, but somehow it managed to send everything on the night table flying, the lamp falling on the wooden floor with a crash. Sharp pain ran all the way to my back and I let out another gasp of pain, scrambling back off the bed, pulling the comforter off of it and crawling back until my feet hit the desk, sending everything to the floor around me until I crouched and curled up, my chest heaving with the panic slowly making its place in my stomach. I swallowed hard and stared up at my father in utter confusion until I noticed a small golden feather dancing in the air in front of me, slowly falling to the ground in the middle of the mess I had made. My eyes widened even more as I stared at it. "Wha..."

He frowned and walked to me, taking my hands and helping me to my feet. "Calm down," he said softly, holding my face. His eyes were stern, but there was a glint of sadness in them that made my heart squeeze. He stepped forward, making me step back, and sighed as he nodded behind me. "Turn your head an' look."

I stared at him a few moments before turning and glancing at the closet, staring at the mirror doors. I saw dad, and me next to him, only dressed in faded jeans. My eyes were brighter than usual, my hair looked lighter than its usual dark blonde, but it was to the two giant wings in my back that my gaze went, my heart feeling as if it was going to jump out of my chest. They were large, now unfolded and with their tips brushing the floor, and covered in bright golden feathers. My mouth opened in surprise, mind refusing to recognize the image the mirror was sending me, and I let out a soft breath, shutting my eyes and stumbling away from the mirror. "Dad..." I managed to gasp, reaching for the desk for balance.

He reached for me, holding me to his chest. "Shhh," he breathed, pulling my face to his neck. He dug his fingers in my hair, holding me tight. "Breathe, Anton. It's not a dream. What yeh saw is true. Jus' breathe."

I clung to him, chest heaving, and kept my eyes shut tight, wishing it was just an illusion. "I'm... how..." My heart sank. I would never be able to hide such things. "What am I gonna do?" I finally dropped, feeling my shoulders slump.

"I got a call from a man in New York," he said softly. "An' he t'inks he can help us. I read 'bout him in de paper befo', an' when he heard 'bout yeh he wanted t'see yeh." He hugged me, kissing my temple. "S'gon' come down here."

I opened my eyes, gaze meeting the mirror again over his shoulder. The wings drew a bit closer to my body as I forced myself to breathe more slowly, folding and taking less space, and I wondered if I was actually controlling them, or if they simply were reacting to my mood. I swallowed and pulled from my father, taking a step back to sit down on the mattress, and turned my head to look at one of them. It was huge, at least eight feet long, the feathers ruffling slightly when I reached out a hesitant hand to touch them. "What will he do?" I asked, looking back at him. "What is he? A doctor?"

He shook his head, "A professor. Not sure o'what." He walked to sit beside me, sighing softly as he reached up to stroke the soft feathers. "Dey _are_ beautiful, Anton."

"But not exactly easy t'hide, non?" I let out, glancing up at them again. "I don' even know how t'control dem, an' I'm not exactly gonna jump out de window t'see if I can fly." Saying it made me realize it, though, and interest perked in my mind as I looked back at dad, narrowing my eyes. "Yeh t'ink I can?"

He snorted softly, ruffling my hair. "Dat's what dis guy should help us with. Yeh wanna see him?"

I shrugged slightly. "Can' hurt, I guess." I looked down at my hands, pursing my lips. "I can' walk around with dose t'ings in my back, anyway. It's not like I can jus' walk in de classroom like not'ing happened."

He shook his head. "Dis place... dis place dat he runs, is also a school."

I glanced back at him. "In New York?"

He nodded, "With other mutants. All yeh age."

I let out a soft snort, glancing up at the wings again. "Great, so I get t'go to school with a bunch of other freaks like me." I frowned. "Yeh said he heard o'me?" I asked, suddenly worried. "I... was I on de news o'somet'ing?"

He shook his head. "Non. S'like..." He frowned and shook his head, "He can read people's minds. He's a mutant, too. Telepathic." He looked at me, licking his lips. "I want yeh t'give it a shot, Anton. Dey're nice people. Jus' let him talk t'yeh." He frowned sadly, "Yeh not a freak."

I stared back at him before looking back down at my lap, pressing my fingertips together and licking my lips. "Nice try, dad," I let out in a breath. I shut my eyes, sighing. "Could I be alone a bit?"

He nodded. "If you really want to be. I'll be outside." He got to his feet, heading to the door. "I love yeh."

I swallowed hard, looking up at him. "Love yeh too, dad." I watched him step out and close the door before letting out a soft sigh, looking down again. I shut my eyes as the wings ruffled slightly, folder closer to me. My lips turned up despite myself as they folded around me, and I pulled my legs up to rest my chin on my knees, reaching out to touch the soft feathers again. Maybe I could talk to this professor... It couldn't be worse than having to hide.

**More to come. Patience, little friends, and review if you want more. You can review if you don't, too, it'll still be nice to read.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors' note : Thank you, ish! Hope your review will make others read this. And you won't be disappointed, swear. And look! Quick like a bunny on... well maybe not crack, but Ritalin, for sure.  
**

_Chapter 2_

I stayed in my room the whole day, switching from my place on the bed to the floor. I spent the rest of the afternoon there, sitting on the warm floorboards in the square of sun light like a house cat. For some reason it felt so good, to simply shut my eyes and let it warm me despite the already hot temperature, to even move to the left here and then to follow the sun as it moved towards the West. It made me shiver in pleasure and feel the blood rush in my veins, made me feel like I could lift the whole house and easily carry it across town. I was only fifteen years old, but so far it was about the best feeling I ever had in my short life.

I would glance at the mirror at some moments, forcing myself to get used to the wings sprouting out of my back. I could only try to imagine how my father felt to literally _watch_ them grow out of my shoulder blades, and shuddered each time I thought of how it might have felt if I hadn't been asleep when they did. After I calmed down, sitting in the sun for a little while, I started to look at them in a new way. I would have found them beautiful in other circumstances, like on a rare species of gigantic bird at the zoo, but on me, considering how it was going to change my life, how I couldn't control them, and how I pretty much doubted they were there for a purpose, they were much, much less beautiful. The feathers shone softly in the light of the sun, a lot of the soft things all over the floor, ruffling and flying around when a soft breeze blew in the room. I only had had the wings for a few days, and they were either already moulting, or I was doomed to find golden feathers all over the place for the rest of my life.

I couldn't control the wings. For half the time I sat there glaring at them, silently telling them to unfold, fold and whatever, but they never did. Instead they followed my mood, apparently, drawing closer like a cocoon when I felt down, perking and ruffling when I found something positive about the situation, and half opening when I sat still and simply let the sun warm me – or should I say us – for hours, probably looking like a gull drying its wings on the reefs.

My mood went down at the same time as the sun. Dad hadn't come back, even though I could hear him passing by the door while he went around the house doing things, probably slowing down and listening. He probably thought I was sleeping. Now it was dark in the bedroom, the sun and its light and warmth long gone to leave place for the moon; and I still sat on the now cold floor, legs drawn up and chin resting on my knees, the wings having, obviously, wrapped around me like a soft, feathery bubble. I listened to the sounds outside, the cars driving on the street down under my window, and kids playing outside, their mothers calling for them to come back in. I recognized a bunch of kids my age from my neighborhood as they walked in front of my house, making me look up at the window, but I didn't get up. It made me wonder what my friends in school were thinking about me being sick for over ten days, and what my father had told them. I frowned, looking down. If I was going to New York in that freak mutant school, it was likely I was never going to see them again.

I heard the television being turned off downstairs at around 11 o'clock, my father climbing the stairs up to his room. He knocked on my door, probably to wish me a good night, but I didn't answer, letting him think I was already sleeping. He didn't insist, and went to bed, and I waited a long moment before pushing myself up to my feet for the first time in hours. I silently walked out of the bedroom and through the dark hallway, going down the stairs towards the patio door in the kitchen. I stepped out on the deck and sat on the wooden stairs leading to the pool, looking around the backyard I had spent my whole childhood in. I loved this place more than the world, and I was going to have to leave it. Leave my friends, my school, my hometown and my house. Leave my father, of all things. All because of my powers. I frowned deeply, looking down at my hands as I balled them into tight fists. I didn't even _have_ powers, I was just a mutant with two stupid wings. Even if I could fly with them, I didn't see how useful it could be to me.

I sighed, staying still for a long moment, until a sound from the street made me turn my head. I got back to my feet, walking across the lawn to the fence, careful not to let myself – or my wings – be seen, and frowned at the black car parked across the street. My eyes widened slightly at the hover chair carrying an old man to our house, curious people dressed in black following him, and I bit my lower lip before heading back inside the house, the doorbell being heard as I stepped back on the deck. I glanced up at the second floor windows to see my father's light up, and stepped back inside the house as he walked down the steps, slowing down when he saw me. "I t'ink dat prof's here, dad," I let out in a low tone, sliding the glass door back shut behind me.

He raised an eyebrow, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head. "Wha..." he let out, walking to the door. He only wore pants under his robe, the belt loosely tied over his chest. He opened it, snorting softly, and I took a step forward to see them, a tall, blonde man, the older guy in the chair, and a pretty redhead. "Hi... I wasn' expectin' yeh now."

The man in the chair nodded. "We are sorry for the late hour, but we didn't see any reason to wait. Besides, it sounded urgent on the telephone, Mr. Taylor." He turned his head to look at me as I stepped closer, stuffing my hands in my pockets. "Good evening, Anton."

"Hi," I replied, frowning slightly as I looked up at the two others.

The woman, who I could tell was older than she looked, gave me a soft smile. My attention, however, was drawn to the man behind her, and the strange way his suit jacket fell. I looked back at her as she stepped forward. Her voice filled my head. _The professor would like to speak with your father, and I would like to speak with you, Anton. My name is Jean Grey._

I frowned deeply, staring at her. I wasn't sure I appreciate the intrusion in my mind much. I was, after all, still able to communicate in a normal, verbal way. "Don' do dat," I let out in a breath. I looked up at the other man, who had stayed silent until now. "Who are you?"

"Warren Worthington the third," he let out in a deep voice, a serious look on his face.

Jean bit her lip, glancing back at Warren. "Perhaps you should go with Mr. Taylor. I want to talk to Anton alone." She glanced back at me, using her voice this time. "If you don't mind."

I shook my head no, turning my head to watch my father go with the professor and the blonde man towards the dinning room. I took a step back, tilting my head towards the living room. "I don' mind."

"I should know better," she told me with a smile. "My son is your age. He doesn't appreciate it either. But I forget that I'm even doing it. Your mutancy very quickly becomes natural, a real part of you."

I snorted softly, turning my head to step in the living room as the wings drew closer to my back. "Dat's a bit hard t'believe when it's twice yeh size."

She smiled, "My telepathic field is bigger than me, I know a thing or two about that." She sat on the edge of the couch, looking up at me. "You don't want to come with us, do you?"

I shrugged. "It's not about comin' with yeh, s'about leavin' here. I never asked for dis t'happen."

She shook her head. "No one ever does." She looked up at me again, "You like it here? A good of mine was born here and it's all he can ever talk about."

I nodded, taking a step back to sit on the arm of the couch. "Everyone loves home. My dad an' I always lived in dis house."

"It's very nice. Is it just the two of you?"

I frowned, looking down at my hands. "Yeah."

She nodded, staring at me, and tucked back her hair. "I promise you'll find a life at the X-mansion too, Anton. It never seems like it at first, but we have kind, wonderful people there."

I frowned at my hands, nodding. "Yeah, I guess." I sighed, looking back at her, my eyes narrowing. "I don' really have a choice anyway, do I? I can' stay here, an' dere's nowhere else I can go."

She looked up at me, "You always have a choice. We'd like you to _want_ to be there. We can teach you about your powers, yourself. It's one of the best educations in the country, a beautiful mansion." She shook her head, "And a chance to help humanity." She reached out for the magazine on the table, letting it float back to her hand, and flipped through the pages with the blink of an eye to a specific article. She sent it back to me, and I glanced down at it. "That would be your campus."

I reached for it, looking down at the picture of a large mansion. "Yeh probably right." I pursed my lips a long moment before looking back at her. "Yeh t'ink dere's more dan my wings? Yeh said powers."

She nodded, looking at him. "I'm sure of it." She arched an eyebrow, "If you let me back into your head, I'm sure I could find a bit more about what exactly is left to come."

I frowned at her. I ran my tongue over my top lip. I wasn't sure about the part where she had to get in my head, but knowing more about my powers was tempting. "Okay," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Dat's all yeh'll look for, right?"

She smirked at me, getting to her feet. "Yes," she said, holding up two fingers in salute. She walked to me, laying her hands on my temples, and I sighed softly as I inhaled her perfume. "Relax," she said softly to me. I didn't feel anything, lulled almost to sleep by the sweet smell of the perfume, and after a long while she stepped back with a smile. "A little God," she told me. "Your powers coincide with those of the sun."

I snorted softly. "What does dat mean?"

She smiled, "I'm not sure. It means you draw your energy from the sun, though, and that you can produce heat, light. With time, I'm sure either force beams or fire." She chuckled, "And obviously you will learn to fly."

I stared at her, suddenly interested. "An' I can learn t'do all o'dis if I go with yeh."

She nodded, smiling softly at me. "Not so bad, eh?"

I shook my head. "Non, I guess not." I glanced back at the doorframe before looking up at her. "What are dey tellin' my dad?"

She smiled, "Reassuring him that you'll be safe, I'm sure." She looked up, "There's one more thing I want you to know." She tapped her temple, not saying anything more to me. I frowned, but glanced at the door as Warren reappeared. She smiled, "Warren is the mutant known as Angel at home."

I stared at Warren. "An' dat means?"

He narrowed his eyes, glancing at Jean before stepping closer to the couch and looking at me. "It means that if you're a nice boy, I might be able to help you." He nodded to my wings. "With those."

Jean smirked and cocked her head to the side. "Why don't you show him what you mean by that, Warren."

He snorted softly, but shrugged off his suit jacket before unbuttoning his shirt. I let out a soft breath when he took it off, my eyes going to the white wings on his back. They were harnessed to his back, but he untied them, letting them unfold enough to let me see them. I let out a soft breath, staring at them. Beyond the fact the harness looked uncomfortable, he still had been able to hide the wings from view. I snorted softly, lips turning up. "Yeh deserve yeh name, den."

He snorted, but smirked, narrowing his eyes at me before looking back at Jean. "Is he coming with us?"

She smiled, "Ask him that, not me."

He turned his head to look at me, raising an interrogative eyebrow. I nodded, glancing at his wings again before looking at Jean. "Yeah, alright." I paused. "I'll go."

.. … ..

Wyatt sighed as he climbed the staircase, head hung and a heavy weight over his heart. He didn't look it, but he was excited. He was excited to find a place for his son, a place where Anton would be safe and could learn to love himself. It was a place that Wyatt couldn't offer at home anymore. He didn't know how to fly, how to master any sort of mutancy. He wasn't even sure how to keep the bigots away. He sighed and knocked on the door, feeling useless as his heart squeezed. He could hear Anton gathering things in his room through the thin wood. He was packing up already. No warnings, no chance to say goodbye. The X-men were taking him that night, and Wyatt would be alone for the first time in ten years. Ten years, that was all they had together. Ten years of being a father, ten years of having a son. It didn't feel like enough. "Need help?" he asked as the door opened, and Anton smiled at him.

He nodded, stepping back to let him in. "T'ink I need another suitcase, too."

He nodded, "Yeh can have mine." He licked his lips, "Probably need a lot o'space t'pack up yeh whole life."

He frowned, looking back at the bed where the suitcase was open. "M'not packin' my whole life. Jus' takin' what I need."

He glanced up at him, sighing softly, before he walked to the closet to pull the rest of his clothes. "I'll give yeh money t'go shoppin' up dere. Yeh gon' need a good winter coat."

He nodded, walking to his desk drawer, and frowned as he reached in for socks. "Guess so." He snorted softly. "She said I took my energy from de sun. Winter's gonna be real fun up dere." He looked up at him. "Don' take it all, dad, m'leaving some here."

He glanced at him, giving him a sad smile. "Not much of a point to dat. Dey... dey made it seem like yeh gon' wanna stay up dere fo'a while."

He frowned, swallowing, and turned to the bed again. "Dey're not lockin' me up dere. S'not like I can' come back now an' den."

He walked to him, laying a hand on his back. "Non, yeh can come back s'much as yeh want. An' f'yeh don' like it, m'on de firs' plane t'bring yeh home." He wrapped his arms around him, hugging him. "Yeh gon' give it a good try, t'ough, right?"

He nodded, silent for a moment before hiding his face. "Gonna miss yeh," he breathed.

Wyatt sighed softly, heart squeezing in his chest. "Gonna miss yeh too, kid," he breathed, pulling him close. "We been t'rough a lot in de past few days. Almos' t'ought I was gon' lose yeh fo'ever."

He shook his head, arms going around him as well. "Not gonna happen. I'll come back, I promise."

Wyatt nodded, shutting his eyes as he pulled him closer. He kissed his forehead, before laying his cheek on the top of his head, fingers smoothing back his hair. "I know yeh will, an' when yeh do yeh'll have all o'dis figured out." He looked down at him, giving him a smirk. "I know yeh gon' turn out jus' right, fils."

"Merci," he let out, glancing up at him, and smirked as well before pulling back and looking down at the suitcase. "Maybe next time I can save on de plane ticket."

He grinned at him, ruffling his hair. He sat down on the bed to fold up the last bits of clothes. "Yeh gon' be nice dere, right?" he asked with a sad smirk. "Gon' make friends?

He snorted softly. "M'goin' dere t'learn about my powers. From de way dey talk 'bout it, dere's a lot of kids dere, some are bound t'be nice." He shrugged. "Not my priority. Never is, yeh know dat."

He nodded, looking back at the shirt he was folding. "Where d'yeh want me t'tell 'em yeh are?"

He smirked. "It's a private school in New York." He chuckled. "Fo' gifted kids, no less. I t'ink dat part of de truth should do."

He smiled at him, putting his clothes in the suitcase and closing it. "Dat's what I'll tell dem, den. Hol' on, I'll be right back." He got to his feet, heading into the hallway, and got another suitcase before he walked to his armoire. He looked inside, and pulled out two jeans, ones he always wore around the house, and put them in the suitcase, before walking to the desk he had in there. He sat down and opened the top drawer, sifting through to pull out a few pictures, pausing as his fingers brushed the one of him and Anton's mother. He bit his lip at it, smiling sadly, before setting it on the desk as well, and sealed them all in an envelope for the boy, putting them into a side compartment of the suitcase. He pulled a few books from his shelves, sighing as he looked around for anything else he could grab.

His eyes narrowed slightly at the closet, lips turning up in a grin, and he stepped inside of it, sifting through the racks to the very back. He pulled the leather jacket off its hanger, hitting it gently to remove the dust, and glanced to his left as Anton stepped in the room, probably looking for the suitcase. He smirked at him and held it up, "I was damn skinny when I was a kid, I don' know what yeh maman saw in me. Here, dis is fo'yeh. I haven' worn it since I was 20." He smirked, "Don' know how much time yeh'll spend on a bike up dere... o'how comfortable dat harness Warren had on was, but maybe yeh'd just like t'have it around." He smiled, tossing it to him. "Smells like me an' motor oil."

Anton caught it, lips turning up into a smile as he looked down at it, fingering the soft leather. "Merci," he said, chuckling. "S'great, I love it."

He smiled, "Put some other stuff in de bag fo'yeh." He reached for it, carrying it to Anton's room, and they filled it with the rest of his stuff. "Yeh got yeh toothbrush?" he asked him.

He snorted softly, narrowing his eyes at him. "Yeah, dad, got it." He looked down at the closed suitcases. "I could pack de whole room, t'still feel like m'forgettin' somet'ing." He sighed, and smirked. "De woman said dere was a guy from Louisiana on de team, t'least I won' be 'lone."

He smiled, "Well dat's good. Can help yeh get over de cold. Dey showed me pictures, t'looks like a nice place. An' yeh can take yeh computer up dere, and call me an' email me. Write t'me. Anyt'ing yeh want, I'll get it to yeh."

Anton nodded, tracing a zipper with the tip of a finger. "I will, I'll write. We can chat an' all, won' be too bad." He paused, and took a deep breath. "Guess I should go downstairs."

Wyatt nodded, sighing softly. He wrapped his arms around him. "Gon' tell yeh I love yeh up here."

He moved close, nodding as he hugged him back. He was silent a long moment. "I love you too, dad," he whispered. He hugged him again before pulling back, averting his eyes as he reached for one of the suitcases and pulled it off the bed. "Let's go, den."

Wyatt swallowed hard, his heart squeezing as he took the other suitcase and the duffle bag he had brought. He followed him down the steps, and glanced up to see the others waiting. He frowned and set the bags down, watching as Jean levitated them all a few inches from the ground and had them float out to the car, Warren following her. Wyatt wrapped his arms around Anton again before he could step out, pulling the boy tight to his chest. "Yeh gon' take good care o'my son, aren' yeh?" he asked in a broken voice to the professor, his heart beating furiously in his chest.

The old man smiled softly, nodding. "You have my word, Mr. Taylor. We'll be waiting for you in the car, Anton."

He left, leaving the door open for him as he headed to the car. Wyatt looked down at Anton, holding his face. "Be good," he breathed, snorting sadly. "Don' get into trouble. Eat all yeh food, shower..." He swallowed, "Call me f'yeh miss home." He kissed his forehead, "An' I'll be dere as soon as I can be, I promise."

He nodded. "I will, I'll call yeh," he said in a broken voice. He looked up at him, his eyes glassy, but managed a smile. "Yeh should get 'nother dog."

He laughed sadly, eyes moistening. "Maybe I will." He kissed his forehead and hugged him again. "I love yeh so much Anton. I never could o'asked fo'anyt'ing better in m'life. I love yeh. I love yeh." He kissed his cheeks, before stepping back. "Go now. I'll see yeh soon."

He nodded, stepping back and looking up at him. He smiled sadly, and didn't say anything else before turning and stepping outside. He breathed a "g'bye, dad," and the door shut, the sound of Anton's footsteps on the pavement echoing to him a few moments later. Wyatt felt his heart leave out the door along with him, and he took a few steps back to sit hard on the steps. "Merde," he breathed gently, hiding his face in his hands. "Ten years," he let out.

He wanted his son.

**More to come!**


End file.
